Since I can remember, I’ve always had trouble sleeping. It was infuriating to me as a child. Even though most kids loved staying up late, I didn’t. To me, there was nothing worse than hearing the clock on your nightstand tick away while you lay there, completely awake. All of my siblings had no trouble sleeping, so it didn’t sit well with me that I couldn’t. I can’t tell you how many times I’d wake up my parents, telling them I couldn’t sleep. Which was mean I know, but secretly it felt nice knowing someone was up with me, so I wasn’t the only person awake in the quiet house. I hated hearing my mom yell out, “It’s time for bed. Everyone go brush your teeth and put your pajamas on!” As I’d get ready for bed, I would guess how long I would stay asleep, if I’d get any hours of sleep at all. But what was weird is that the one place I could easily fall asleep was in a car. For some reason, as soon as my dad would start driving, even if it was as simple as going to the grocery store, I’d be half asleep when we’d enter the parking lot.
One night, after growing tired of staring at my bedroom ceiling, I decided to go downstairs and watch some TV. I had the volume really low so I wouldn’t wake up my parents and watched a TV show for a while. Around midnight, my dad came stumbling into the living room, yawning as he said, “What are you doing, Ava?”
“Watching TV, I can’t sleep. Did you hear the TV?”
He shook his head. “No, but I saw the light from under the door.”
“Sorry.” I whispered.
“It’s okay.” He glanced up at the clock. “Honey, it's past midnight and you’ve got school tomorrow, you need to get some sleep.”
“I can’t dad, I’m not tired.”
He rubbed his eyes, before saying, “Okay, then let’s go for a drive. Car rides always make you tired.” I nodded and he grabbed the keys, and we got in the car and he started driving slowly in the neighborhood. We circled around the neighborhood for a few minutes before my dad asked, “Getting tired yet?”
“Not yet.”
He clicked his tongue. “How about I tell you a story then?”
I nodded and he began telling me the story of a man who loved to fish. The man would spend every waking moment on his little boat in the lake. He’d catch fish and then throw them back and would watch the sunset before heading home. One late afternoon he was fishing, and his line grabbed a huge fish, one that he had to wrestle with. He wanted to see what the fish looked like but for the life of him he couldn’t reel it into the boat. He was about to give up when the fish dragged him in the water. He was still holding onto the fishing pole, surprised the line didn’t break as he was being dragged down to the bottom of the lake. He couldn’t decipher what type of fish this was as he had never seen one like it before. He held on as long as he could to see if he could catch a better glimpse of it. But he soon was about to lose all of the air in his lungs, for a few seconds he debated letting go of the pole, not wanting to drown just to see what this fish looked like but then the fish dragged him to a place with air pockets so he could finally breathe.
There was more to that story, but I fell asleep before I heard the ending. I woke up in my bed the next morning, feeling rested for once as I got ready and walked into the kitchen for breakfast. My dad was leaning on the kitchen counter, sipping on a cup of coffee as I mumbled, “Good morning.” I sat on the stool, immediately diving into the bowl of Frosted Flakes.
“Sleep better last night, Ava?”
My dad asked, a small smile on his face as I shoveled a rather large bite of cereal into my mouth. I nodded and thanked him. My mom looked confused but didn’t say anything and tended to my younger sibling’s lunches.
That night, a few minutes after my mom told us to get ready for bed, my dad pulled me aside and asked if I wanted to go for another drive. I agreed, hoping that this routine of driving in the car would help me get a few more hours of sleep each night.
“So, what was the last thing you remember from the story?”
I told him about how the man could breathe under the water and a smile grew on his face as he told me the rest of the story. At this point, the man had let go of the pole and was swimming in the water breathing through this air pocket when he was finally able to get a good look at the fish. Each scale was a different color, each more intricate than the last, which made the fish resemble a rainbow. It swam around and the man got to look deep into its eyes, and he noticed that even its eye color had multiple colors within it. His eyes widened as he stared at the fish, knowing he would never see a fish as beautiful as this one. Soon, the air pockets grew smaller and smaller and the fish got closer to him, the pole dangling from his body as the hook was still attached to the fish’s mouth. The man reached out and gently removed the hook from the fish’s mouth and grabbed the fishing pole. He looked at the fish and then up to where his boat was, wondering how he would swim back up there in one breath. As if the fish understood his internal struggle, it swam underneath him and let the man ride up on his back, quickly bringing him up to the surface. The man got inside his boat and looked down at the fish who was still hovering around him and took one last look into the fish’s multi-colored eyes. He smiled at the fish, and it dove deep down into the lake, splashing him with water as he returned back to the ocean floor. From that day forward the man would fish on that lake every day to see if he would see that fish again but never did. And while most would be upset that they didn’t see the fish again, the man was happy he was able to experience its beauty even if it was only that one time.
The next morning I woke up in my bed once more, happy for another good night's sleep but for also hearing my dad’s stories considering I didn’t know he had any. From then on it became a little routine with us to leave shortly after my mom announced bedtime to go for a little drive. Sometimes he’d make up stories while others he’d tell stories of his childhood. All I know is that I enjoyed listening to his stories more than getting a good night’s sleep.